Warm nights seem to make people of certain age in this town a little crazy. Perhaps its an inability to sleep. Bodies were abroad. I did not have the Promenade to myself. There was noise. A group of kids were scampering across the wet sand beneath the harbour quay. Two of them, girls, were giggling. At every thing. It sounded like they intended to steal or borrow one of the boats that were moored up. A dingy perhaps or a rowing boat. As I was walking back I saw them driving a small red car further along the Prom and parking up. All with the maximum amount of noise and screeching of tyres. They all piled out. The girls, after a short whispered conference between themselves, resumed giggling. I don’t know where they went after that, maybe the beach. The boat rustling was clearly a failure. Two figures were already on the beach, lit up yellow by a fire. Prior to this I’d seen a man in a pair of shorts, his chest bare leave the house on the corner of South Marine and walk round to the one next door. He then walked into the road and appeared to throw something up to the top window. The narrative, his narrative sound became clear. The top flat was ablaze with light. I could see a young man either dancing or throwing his hands up into the air. There were sounds of music and shouting. So that was it. The man (I could now see he was grey-haired) had clearly been woken by the noise and was trying to get them to stop by ringing doorbells or throwing stones at their window. Neither were being successful. I hope he got some sleep eventually.
I find it all so frenetic. Too much, when silence is what one wants. But as The Stones memorably sang, you can’t always get what you want. I’m off drawing today, a new tactic in response to the sun. I will go armed with my flask of tea and see what I can see. The Norwegian class left me high. That was nice. We sparked each other. It felt good after my dark Monday. You see, he said, it always passes.
